In which suddenly I’m taking half the week off from work.

This morning I had a follow-up consultation with my doctor at 8:30.

My surgery is scheduled for the day after tomorrow! Ack!

I can’t eat anything after five on Tuesday, nor drink anything after midnight. I report to the hospital at six o’clock in the morning, for an 8 o’clock surgery to remove the tumor and do an ablation. They’re going to put me all the way under. Barring complications, I should be home in my own bed by two in the afternoon.

When all is said and done, I may find myself in debt to the tune six or eight grand… or maybe less. [You almost win, dad. Thank God I didn’t take you up on your bet.] I have applications – from both the doctor’s office and the hospital – that may give me a 40% discount from the former and up to 100% off of the latter’s invoices if I can prove myself to be poor enough. (I imagine I’ll be paying the anesthesiologist whatever s/he charges, because that bill will come from yet a third entity and I haven’t had anyone tell me to talk to that financial advisor.) Three bills for one procedure.

Most frustrating is that they can’t even tell me in advance exactly what it will cost. Until I get all my paperwork in, they can’t tell me what they’ll be charging me because the fees slide based on income. It’s all terribly vague, but apparently they’ll let me make payments. And the surgery has to be done, so one plunges onward in spite of obstacles.

I had to give blood and pee in a cup this morning. They poked me in the arm with a needle before I was even completely awake, which while necessary was rather rude of them, I thought. I also had to read a lot of forms and sign things and see two different financial counselors in two buildings. All before my eggs and toast with tea and milk.

I’m stoked about the ablation, because it means my periods will be lighter, or, perhaps, if I’m lucky, non-existent. Non-existent! Can you imagine?!? NO BLEEDING AT ALL!!! {cue: snoopy dance}

Let me tell you, the idea makes me positively giddy. No more eight or nine day-long periods. No more hideous flooding when I stand up after sitting for awhile. No more clotting! No more panic attacks from the fear of bleeding to death! I realize it sounds strange, but I really couldn’t be more excited about getting the lining of my uterus sanded out! (Fuck menstruation! It sucks.)

Okay, so they don’t really sandblast the uterine lining, they cauterize it with hot water. Whatever. Point is, relief from the hell I’ve been going though! Hurrah! {cue: ticker tape parade and dancing in the streets}

The idea of going under anesthesia freaks me out, of course, because someone has to be a member of that statistically significant set who never wakes up… though I suppose I won’t know if I don’t wake up, so maybe it’s no big deal. Also, it’s totally gross to think of one’s body as a non-conscious piece of meat in surgery, lying there all flaccid and inert while strangers do weird things to it. (Eewh! I’ve just grossed myself out. Heh.) I’ve decided not to think about it any more.

Long story short, I’ll be lying around in bed all day on Thursday and Friday, waiting for my liver to clear the drugs out of my blood. Y’all should call me and tell me jokes! I like jokes.

In which there’s another riveting post about my damned uterus! (Can I generate content, or can I generate content!) (Wait. Don’t answer that; I’ll probably cry.)

I had to call the clinic this morning to get my biopsy results, even though they promised they’d call me by Tuesday afternoon. The biopsy shows I have a benign prolapsed fibroid tumor, which is exactly what we were expecting the biopsy to show. (In other words, I don’t have uterine cancer. Yay!)

My uterus monster sucks. I want the fucker out, and I want it out before my next period because this month SUCKED SO BAD. OMFG. I couldn’t make it through my shift Monday and had to go home and sleep for 14 hours. I lost at a pint of blood in four hours that day; heavy bleeding is common with fibroids and believe you me when I report that IT SUCKS. I won’t even talk about the pain or how scary it is to bleed like that, nor about the general exhaustion and despair that accompany the whole process.

I’ve applied for Medicaid (thanks for the suggestion, amped!) and should hear back on that in the next day or two. Since I have no assets whatsoever, I may be eligible for some kind of coverage. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

I have no idea what the surgery will cost – maybe around six grand? – so it’s hard to prepare financially. No doubt I’ll be making payments for the next few years whether I’m eligible for any kind of benefits or not. I’d hoped to get new glasses and have my teeth cleaned and buy another car, and then maybe splurge on some clothes without holes in them, but I guess I’ll pay for surgery instead. (I am so sick of having my check spent before I earn it. Gah. Poverty may be spiritually enriching, sure, but a girl can bitch, can’t she?)

I’m waiting to hear from Medicaid before scheduling surgery. The nurse I spoke with today was all weird and vague and useless, so I’m not even really clear on what my next step is supposed to be, but I think it involves scheduling a follow-up appointment and getting referred to the hospital.

During my appointment last week, the doctor was all, “You have to have this out within the next month, and if you start running a temperature you’ll need to get in here right away.” But today, the nurse made it sound as if her interest in helping me was tied directly to my insurance, which of course I don’t have. I’m not certain but I think she may have been trying to tell me, in code, that I need to call a lot and complain a lot so that her office can report to Medicaid that the problem is, in fact, an emergency. Hard to tell, but I have called three times in just as many days to complain about pain and bleeding, so they have records of that.

The whole thing sucks, and ruminating upon it gives me anxiety attacks.

In other news, living with Gramma rocks, and in the near future I shall write a post about exactly how excellent she is. And today I rode the bus to work and it was all amusing and shit because [A] I haven’t lived in a town with public transportation for over a decade, and [B] there was a cute boy, who got on and off at the same stops I did, eyeballing me in that style specially reserved for public buses and trains. I’ve been losing weight since I got here because I’m not eating like a pig, and that plus getting ogled makes me feel double plus good awesome!

In which there’s an actual reason for it.

The short version: I went to the gynecologist yesterday, and it turns out I have a giant fibroid in my uterus and need to have surgery within the month.

The long version contains way TMI and (to protect those of you who don’t want to know any more about my uterus than you already do) is concealed after the break! Continue reading OMG. WTF. BBQ. →